


Smoke

by GallicGalaxy



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Implied pre-asylum au, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Trager is still referred to by his last name for some reason, Under-Desk Blow Jobs, live with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-26 04:51:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4990948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GallicGalaxy/pseuds/GallicGalaxy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Miles finds himself in a lewd situation with a supposed business associate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> Hey look I wrote Miles/Trager that wasn't part of that long horrible fic look at me  
> For some reason I saw fanart of pre-asylum!Trager and could totally imagine Miles blowing him under a desk (and throwing a fit to himself because Trager isn't paying attention to him). SO I wrote some more smut, because I figured it was long overdue. I might have some more Eddie/Waylon smut in the near future as well ;-)

Trager sneer-smiled down at Miles, his eyes narrowed behind his glasses, the corner of his lips pursed around a fresh cigar.

“You know what you gotta do, kid.” He chuckled, idly running a hand through Miles' hair. Miles shot a glare up at him, his spine pressed firmly against the front of Trager's desk. He placed his hands against Trager's knees, leaning forward to give himself a little more breathing room. Trager uttered a sadistic little laugh and patted the back of Miles' head in an overtly condescending manner. Miles made a low growling noise in the back of his throat.

He laid his lips against the head of Trager's exposed cock, a single drop of warm precum seeping into his mouth. Trager grinned, ruffling Miles' hair one last time before he took his eyes off of him. He tapped his fingers casually against his desk, trusting Miles to do well. Miles silently shoved Trager's member past his lips, bobbing his head slowly as he adjusted himself to the first inch.

“Such a good boy.” Trager praised, without returning his attention to Miles. He was probably only ignoring Miles to provoke him, give him something to prove. If he could manage to distract Trager from his work, it would be a milestone of success. Miles tried not to let it occupy his mind too heavily. That was exactly what Trager wanted from him.

But it was boring to sit there on his knees blowing Trager like he meant it while being relentlessly ignored.

“Ah, teeth, buddy.” Trager muttered. Miles flared his nostrils and inhaled a whiff of cigar smoke. It was only reminding him of how much he wanted a cigarette. He leaned forward, moving his hand to Trager's inner thigh, and shoved his cock down just a little further.

“Oh, come on, kiddo. Use your tongue a little.” Trager fluttered. “Or this'll get real boring real fast.” Miles grunted softly, flexing the back of his throat. He paused to gently rub the head of Trager's cock with his lips, tongue darting out aimlessly.

“Don't call me 'kiddo' while I've got your dick in my mouth.” Miles snarled.

“But you don't have my dick in your mouth.” Trager sassed. “So put it back in, and I'll stop calling you 'kiddo'.” Miles sneered at him and responded by burying Trager's shaft as deeply in his throat as it would go.

“There you go.” Trager murmured encouragingly. “Don't be a little bitch, work it all in. You can take more.” Miles scoffed around a mouthful of Trager's shaft. He did a few test slides, testing his limits and trying to keep himself from gagging. He'd have to force it somehow, one way or another. It was just a matter of getting himself to relax enough to make it possible.

“See, baby?” Trager purred, as he felt his cock slide past Miles' gag reflex.

“I think you're paying more attention to me than your work.” Miles panted, his breath beating against Trager's member.

“Tsk, that's not your business, buddy.” Trager crooned, rubbing Miles' head with his knuckles. Miles chuckled and sank Trager's cock back into his throat. It passed through easier this time, more fluidly, and further before it became difficult to swallow. Miles was doing exactly what Trager wanted him to do: holding his attention. He acted like he didn't want to pay attention to Miles for the sole purpose of motivating Miles to distract him.

Miles made a few cursory motions, each tiny bob of his head urging a little more of Trager into the back of his throat. He could take the whole thing. He kneaded Trager's inner thigh with his right hand, pulling the fabric of his pants between his fingers, stroking it with his knuckles. Miles would have gritted his teeth if he could; he silently swore to himself once more that he could take all of it.

“Good boy, good boy.” Trager murmured, the shuffling of his hands on his desk slowing and becoming more erratic. Miles made a tiny noise almost like a moan, but he fervently denied to himself that he'd done so. He kept steadfastly pounding Trager's cock into his throat; water sprung up at the corners of his eyes as he forced the last few inches in. So close.

A louder noise burst forth from Miles' lungs, now undeniably a moan, pleasuring Trager with minute vibrations. Miles closed his eyes. He pulled away, panting harshly, his face a repulsive mess of spit, tears, and Trager's precum. One last swallow, and he would have all of it.

Miles choked it back. Clear back. His lips were pressed to the very base of Trager's cock, every inch immersed in his throat. He was still invisible, stifled beneath a desk. Inhaling air that smelled of drifting cigar smoke. Being ignored by a haughty white-collar businessman. Being used. Taunted.

Miles groaned, lifting his head and darting it back down again as quickly as he could manage. Trager stifled a presumably pleased grunt. That was it. Right there. More of that.

Miles inhaled deeply through his nose, struggling to catch his breath. He was focusing every nerve in his body on thrusting his jaw against Trager's shaft. Every moan he tried to hold back seemed to elicit an encouraging little purr from Trager.

“Such a good buddy.” Trager said in a strained voice. “Such a good buddy. That's it, Miles.” Miles drew a gasp of ardor, having pretty much given up on stifling himself. He prayed that nobody would enter the room, because he couldn't have kept himself quiet enough to go unnoticed, and willed Trager to finish.

Trager sank his fingers back into Miles' hair. “Alright, sweets.” He hissed, pricking Miles' scalp with his fingernails. “H-Here it comes, buddy...” He gasped, pulling up sharply on Miles' hair. This sensation fired volts of pleasure through Miles' body, causing his hands to grasp desperately at whatever they could find.

Trager only sighed as he came. It was a soft, tender noise, an expression of release. Miles was sure that he should have been angry, that he should have demanded more after all that work, but at that moment that little sigh was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. Miles relaxed his mouth, closing his eyes, purring softly. But while the sound of Trager's orgasm was delicious, his taste was not.

Miles flinched, even though he'd relaxed half a second earlier. He cracked his eyes open, trying desperately not to think. He managed to keep his mind blank for long enough to force a swallow, but it just looked like he was exaggerating the motion to make Trager notice.

“Oh, and you swallow.” Trager almost giggled. “What a good boy.”

“You. Owe. Me.” Miles spat, gritting his teeth. Trager laughed a stupid little laugh and collectedly tucked his member back into his pants. The quiet _zip_ made Miles shudder.

Trager leaned back even further, chewing thoughtfully on his cigar. “I suppose I probably do owe ya.” He mumbled. He slowly lifted his foot, letting the tip of his toe poke at Miles' member.

Miles was hard. He didn't really want to admit it, but he was hard. And he'd gotten hard while going to town on Trager's dick. And of course, Trager knew. He'd barely looked at Miles and he knew. Or he was a good guesser. Miles inhaled sharply through his teeth when he felt Trager tease him like that, blushing a little and avoiding Trager's eyes.

“Fuck, I need to...” Miles stammered, letting go of Trager entirely. His cock throbbed against the thick, stifling fabric of his jeans; it was almost painful all-in-all. “I gotta get off. Somehow.” Miles continued, rubbing tentatively at his erection.

“Hmph, how would Jer-Blaire feel if he found out I'd let you jerk yourself off all over my carpet?” Trager puffed.

“Probably less pissed than he'd be if he found out you've been calling him Jer-Blaire.” Miles scoffed, sticking out his tongue.

“Eh, you may have a point there.” Trager admitted. “Come on, get out from under there one way or another.” He prompted, gesturing Miles out from beneath his desk.

Miles rose to his feet, leaning over Trager, putting most of his weight down on Trager's chair. Trager offered him a kiss, and Miles took it, even though he knew exactly what was going to happen.

“Ech, is that my taste?” Trager commented, hastily breaking away from Miles.

“Yes.” Miles declared fiercely. “I could hardly choke that down, and I thought I had a taste for it.” He complained. “I think it's just flavored by the bitterness of your soul. That's why it tastes so goddamned bitter and nasty.”

“Oh, you're so mean, buddy.” Trager joked. “But if it was that bad, I definitely owe you. At least a little something. Favor for a favor, eh?” Miles cocked his head and smiled sharply.

“Yeah, but do I trust you to give me anything remotely comparable?” He scoffed indignantly.

“Oh, just sit on my lap and let me get you off.” Trager half-sighed, giving Miles a sideways wink. Miles made a small, upset noise, but he still obliged.

Trager paused for a moment to rest his cigar in a disused ashtray on his desk, using his unoccupied hand to stroke the little patch of skin right above Miles' groin. Miles released a fluttering, satisfied sigh, nudging himself ever-so-slightly against Trager in an attempt to prompt more pleasure from him.

“Eager, aren't ya?” Trager coughed. “Eh, let's make this quick, buddy. I've got a cigar waiting.” He declared, even though he was technically in charge of the situation. Miles unzipped his jeans, paying no mind to Trager's hands. Trager chuckled softly against Miles' neck, feeling the subtle twitch of Miles' cock throbbing between his fingers.

“Fuck...” Miles spat, biting his lip. He agreed on getting this over with as quickly as possible, for the longer they were here, the higher the chance was that someone would walk in on them. The mere possibility made Miles' spine start to arch with a sort of guilty pleasure.

Trager stroked him beneath his pants, assuring that Miles was going to come into his own underwear. Apparently, a small price to pay in order to spare Trager the expense of having to sanitize the office carpet. Miles rubbed his lip between his teeth, using Trager to brace himself. His strokes were rapid, swift and harsh, unceremonious. Not that anything had been ceremonious before that point.

“You like that, buddy?” Trager murmured, grazing Miles' ear with his teeth. Miles moaned as quietly as he could, leaning in to Trager's rough strokes.

“Yeah, you're makin' it quick enough.” Miles hissed. “I'd yell at you if I had actually expected anything more.” He sneered, elbowing Trager for effect.

Miles tasted a tiny drop of blood from the inside of his lip as he got closer, balling his fists and trembling slightly. He didn't want to come like this: hastily, easily, without even taking his pants off. But he told himself it was better than doing the same thing alone in a bathroom, without even Trager's thin, rough hands to guide him.

“It's not takin' long, is it?” Trager teased.

“You're one to talk.” Miles retorted harshly, rolling his eyes and panting slightly. “C'mon, just finish me off. I gotta get home and change my shorts.” He growled. Trager rubbed the head of his cock tauntingly, which forced some weak little squeaking sound out of Miles. “I'm gonna...ahh, ff-fuck, I'm gonna come.” He panted. He jerked his hand up to his mouth and sank his teeth into his coat sleeve. His invariably loud outcry was as stifled as possible by the fabric occupying his mouth. It was better than biting a hole in his own lip.

“Ahh, shit...” Miles whimpered. “I'm gonna regret that. Especially on the ride home.” He mumbled, but it was really only his fault.

“Probably.” Trager shrugged as he slowly withdrew his hand from Miles' member. “Do me one more tiny favor, and clean me up a little.” He chuckled, lifting his hand to Miles' mouth. Miles sighed internally, but he'd do it anyway. He just pretended not like it.

The sensation of licking his own cum off someone else's fingers was not lost on him. He tasted better than Trager, at least, pleasant enough to enjoy. He kept Trager's fingers in his mouth for a little longer than was even necessary, until Trager forcibly withdrew them.

“You got places to be?” Trager purred, giving Miles a moment to pull his pants back up.

“Well, now I do, since I just came in my pants.” Miles coughed. Trager kissed him on the back of the neck, retrieving his cigar before Miles had even stood up all the way.

Miles was set on hurrying away as hastily as he could manage, but Trager's voice pursued him.

“Hey, I'll see ya again some time.” Trager called after him. Miles turned back, trying to hide his tiny little smirk. “We'll get together for lunch, y'know...talk.” Trager added, winking behind his glasses.

“I'll be counting on it.”

 


End file.
